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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28376496">take whatever you're giving, not enough</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/yo_itsella/pseuds/Ella'>Ella (yo_itsella)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>take whatever you're giving, not enough [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>TwoSet, Twosetviolin, twoset violin</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Brett has a thing for Eddy's hands, Dirty Talk, Discovery of a (very mild) kink, M/M, Smut, as smutty as it can get without any actual sex at least</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-11 00:16:32</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,030</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28376496</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/yo_itsella/pseuds/Ella</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Brett learns something new about himself. Eddy is very, very enthusiastic about it.</p><p>(Alternate title: "How graphic can I make this while keeping everyone's clothes on?" Please heed the rating.)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Eddy Chen/Brett Yang</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>take whatever you're giving, not enough [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2120445</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>172</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>take whatever you're giving, not enough</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>It only took me three fluff pieces to dive headfirst into this, eh? This is a stand-alone fic, but could potentially turn into a series. Endless thanks to Gab (gabbybangg on Twitter) for being the greatest Cheerleader of Filth in the world.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Brett undershoots a gliss for the third time in a row. The resulting note is offensively flat and he rips the bow from the strings in annoyance - this should <em>not</em> be giving him so much trouble. "Fuck." He rolls out his left shoulder and tilts his head side-to-side, trying to stretch out the dull pain that flares sharper every time he shifts up the fingerboard.</p><p>"You all right?" Eddy asks, lowering his violin. "You've been doing that a lot today."</p><p>"What? I always play out of tune."</p><p>"Besides that, obviously." Eddy lifts one shoulder up in an exaggerated shrug, then repeats the motion with his eyebrows.</p><p>"Oh, that?" He gives his arm another experimental shake. "It's nothing. It's been a bit tense since I woke up. Probably just slept on it wrong."</p><p>He lifts his bow to try the passage again because they have <em>got</em> to have this duet ready to film tomorrow, but Eddy's already put his own instrument back in its case. "Let me see."</p><p>"Seriously, it's fine."</p><p>"It's not fine if it's affecting your playing. Humor me."</p><p>Brett only goes along with it because he knows what's coming and yeah, he could probably use it right now. He sets his violin aside while Eddy steps behind him and places his hands on his aching shoulder. The warmth of his palms is already pleasant, but he sighs when Eddy squeezes with his thumbs, slowly kneading at the muscle just above his shoulder blade.</p><p>Brett sways a little where he stands. "Oh, that's good."</p><p>Before they got together, he'd suspected Eddy gave incredible massages. It was evident from the constant, never-enough touches he received: a quick, supportive squeeze of his shoulders before they walked onstage, a playful scratch on the top of his head, a firm grasp on his arm to prevent them from being separated in an overcrowded train station. His grip was so effortlessly strong; not unexpected for a musician, but it still caught Brett off-guard every time those hands touched him, burning invisible imprints that stayed with him for weeks after. He gets a lot of compliments on his hands but always found himself jealous of Eddy's, the wide palms and long fingers so perfectly-suited to playing violin. Eventually he began wondering what else those hands were suited for.</p><p>Eddy's voice snaps him out of his reverie. "Where does it hurt?"</p><p>Brett hums as his eyes droop closed. "Doesn't matter. Just keep doing that."</p><p>His suspicions proved correct once they began dating and could finally touch each other whenever and however they wanted. Eddy's massages - and all the other ways he uses his hands - are life-altering. Brett feels the tension bleed from his body and it probably has more to do with the person giving the massage than any type of technique.</p><p>Eddy's chuckle is soft and low and very, very close. The warmth in Brett's skin blooms through his chest.</p><p>"Don't get too comfortable."</p><p>He presses in experimentally with his fingers and digs around with his thumb, the strength of it teetering just on the edge of too much. For a brief moment a sudden, inexplicable desire for Eddy to press even <em>harder </em>flashes through him.</p><p>(where the hell did <em>that</em> come from)</p><p>Before he can process it Eddy finds the knot he was looking for and instantly lightens his touch over the sensitive muscle, mindful not to push too hard. And Brett doesn't - he doesn't want that. He misses the pressure immediately, and his shoulders hitch at the realization.</p><p>Eddy completely misreads the reaction. "Damn. No wonder you're sore," he mutters, sympathetic for all the wrong reasons. "I can work this thing out for you."</p><p>His next words are a warning, both the worst and best possible thing he could say.</p><p>"It'll hurt."</p><p>(Brett's skin erupts in goosebumps, what is <em>happening</em>)</p><p>"You'll feel better after, though."</p><p>(Eddy's hands are on him and he wants... fuck, what exactly does he <em>want</em>)</p><p>The hands remain warm and gentle through the fabric of his shirt.</p><p>(<em>Not enough</em>, Brett thinks wildly)</p><p>He swallows heavily. "Go for it." His voice doesn't feel like his own.</p><p>"Okay. Brace yourself."</p><p>The words are so close they ruffle the ends of his hair. The quiet instruction reverberates up his spine, his heartbeat unbearably loud in his ears.</p><p>Brett hisses when Eddy presses into the knot, steady but <em>hard</em>. His vision whites out around the edges, not from pain but the sheer <em>too-much-ness</em> of it somehow being exactly what he needed and he doesn't understand <em>why</em>. It takes an excruciating -</p><p>(excruciating and <em>perfect</em>)</p><p>- minute to break it up. They both exhale when the knot finally releases. It dissolves under the compression of Eddy's thumbs and Brett feels as though his own body does the same, exhilarated and bewildered.</p><p>The groan that escapes him sounds pained but that's not it, it's not even close to what it -</p><p>"Sorry, sorry, sorry," Eddy says quickly. His hands are on both shoulders now, using gentle, soothing strokes in a completely unnecessary apology. Brett doesn't know how to tell him that, doesn't even know where he could start.</p><p>"I think I got it, at least. Sorry, too much?"</p><p>(No. <em>No</em>)</p><p>"S'fine," Brett slurs out, shaky and melting into the caress. He's breathing hard and he needs to get his shit together because if Eddy hasn't already noticed he won't be able to keep it - whatever the hell it is - off his face when he turns around.</p><p>But his voice must give him away because the hands on him grow still. Neither of them move. "...Brett?"</p><p>He lets his eyes drift closed again, caught. "Yeah," he breathes.</p><p>"What - what just happened there?" Eddy finally asks, quiet, like he's got a pretty good idea but needs Brett to confirm it.</p><p>He can't explain it to himself, much less anyone else. He sighs. "I don't fucking know," he finally admits.</p><p>Eddy takes a moment before speaking again, like he wants to choose his words carefully. "So. You liked that?" It's a simple question, free of judgment.</p><p>He settles for nodding, not trusting his voice to remain steady. He shrugs helplessly, the hands still a weight on his shoulders.</p><p>"It's okay," he's assured. The massage resumes like it's nothing, like they're not even having this conversation. Like he's not having some weird kinky freakout in front of his boyfriend. His mind won't stop racing, but his heartbeat begins to slow and his breathing settles as Eddy continues to work out the tension in his upper back.</p><p>"You... liked that it hurt?" he asks, genuinely curious.</p><p>"No," he says quickly. "Not that. I don't. I don't know what it - what I liked."</p><p>Eddy's thumbs knead upward along the back of his neck, pressing into the base of his skull. "Hm. Maybe…" he trails off, pondering. "You liked that it was too much? Overstimulation?" he suggests.</p><p>Something clicks into place in Brett's brain because that's it, that's <em>exactly</em> it.</p><p>His posture must change because Eddy chuckles, leaning in close and resting his chin on his shoulder. "Got it in two." Lips brush against his ear. "I didn't know that about you."</p><p>Eddy sounds so fond and matter-of-fact that Brett's able to laugh too, just a little. "Neither did I, apparently."</p><p>They've only shared a bed for a few months now - passionately and enthusiastically, to be sure - but they haven't been particularly adventurous about it. Yet. He can't make sense of this, though; he's not some blushing virgin and he should have figured this out about himself years ago, not in a random practice session in his mid-twenties. Maybe -</p><p>"You're full of surprises." The voice in his ear drops low, deep as he's ever heard it, and sounds <em>intensely </em>interested. "I want to know about it, though."</p><p><em>Fuck</em>.</p><p>Maybe it's just Eddy.</p><p>"Don't you?" His shirt collar is tugged to the side, the mouth at his bare skin soft and hot, just far enough from his throat to remain hidden from the cameras. "This is something we should explore." The faint sheen of sweat is licked from his skin, slow and deliberate. "In extensive detail."</p><p>"Eddy - " he's cut off when that mouth sucks a mark into his shoulder, searing and wet with just a hint of teeth. Strong hands settle at his hips.</p><p>"Do you want to find out? See just how much you can take? How far you can be pushed?" The grip grows stronger, pulling him flush against Eddy's front. "I want to. God, I want to see that." Lips trail up his throat, open and hot where they settle under his jaw, not quite enough to leave a mark but plenty to make him lose his goddamned mind.</p><p>Brett groans and lets his head fall back on Eddy's shoulder, christ, he <em>never</em> talks like this and it's the hottest - the hottest thing he's ever - <em>fuck</em>. He didn't know this, either.</p><p>Dimly, he realizes he should put a stop to this. They're technically at work still, they - they need to be ready for something (God only knows what because he can't remember for the life of him) tomorrow. But Eddy isn't done.</p><p>"I don't give a fuck about the duet and neither do you."</p><p>Brett has no response for that. Eddy nuzzles against his cheek in a gesture that would be sweet if it weren't for the words coming out of his mouth.</p><p>"Can you imagine it? I'll make you come, just with my hands and mouth, I know how much you love that and you'll fucking love it even more because I'll drag it out until you're so far gone you can't even talk. And when you're so oversensitized you think you can't take any more, I won't stop. I won't stop even when you're a shaking mess."</p><p>Eddy sucks at his throat, bruises be damned and Brett can barely <em>breathe</em> but god yes, he can imagine it, the picture painted so vividly by a low whisper in his ear. Eddy wraps an arm across Brett's waist and rolls his hips up, pulling him in so tightly the motion nearly lifts him off his toes. He blindly reaches up and back until his hand finds Eddy's hair, desperate for something to hold onto. Eddy nudges his nose against Brett's in a silent request and he obliges, tilting his head back and up until their mouths meet.</p><p>The kiss is deep, open-mouthed, and achingly brief. Eddy only takes a taste, pulling back after just one thorough slide of his tongue. Before Brett can tug at his hair and chase his lips he continues to speak, a rapid-fire stream of filth that's too much except it isn't - it's - how is Eddy so good at this, how does he just <em>know</em> -</p><p>"I'll make you come," he repeats, "and before you can even think about breathing I'll fuck you until you come again, however you want it. On all fours, or folded up with your legs over my shoulders, if you need me to hold you down I'll do it, it doesn't matter. And after I fuck you I'll get on my knees and suck you off, again and again after that if you can. Fuck, I'll do it even if you <em>can't</em>, that's exactly what you want, isn't it? I'll give it to you. I want to, I'd give anything to see you like that, it'd be incredible."</p><p>Every word vibrates through Brett's skin and down to his bones, buzzing across a string wound too tight and ready to snap. He shudders and blinks towards the ceiling, dazed and overwhelmed and wanting as he lets himself be moved by the rise and fall of Eddy's breaths against his back.</p><p>In the short time they've been together Eddy's learned that Brett doesn't care for being bossed around during sex, and he doesn't try to because he doesn't need to. He has a way of turning orders into requests, needy, desperate offers too tantalizing to refuse. Begging, but only on the surface - he always wants what Brett wants. And oh, how Brett wants.</p><p>Fingertips tap patiently against his hip. A mouth lingers at his throat. His nerves are on fire.</p><p>"Let me," Eddy implores.</p><p>Yes. <em>Yes</em>. "Yes."</p><p>*</p>
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